Alone
by Anne Phoenix
Summary: He didn't stand a chance and never had stood a chance. Alex, Yassen, no slash, deathfic - . - This is a 2009 fic I realised I'd never posted to this site. Hope you enjoy.


**Title:** Alone

**Author:** Anne Phoenix  
**Pairing(s): **Yassen, Alex  
**Summary: **He didn't stand a chance and never had stood a chance.  
**Rating: **R  
**Disclaimer: **All Alex Rider characters herein are the property of Anthony Horowitz and the Penguin Group. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Warning(s): **Violence, Character death  
**Word Count: **3,200  
**Author's Notes: **Many thanks to Kenna Hijja and Vee for hand holding and beta reading - Written as part of Spyfest 2009 for Swabloo, who wanted something "gritty and dark".

Happy (probably slightly belated by now) Birthday, Swabloo!

**Alone**

Yassen allowed himself a few seconds of inattentiveness to stretch out, yawn, rub his tired eyes. He'd been awake for over thirty-six hours and was starting to feel the strain, but he knew he couldn't let his guard down until the job was done. This job was too important and had required too many months of precise preparation – it could not fail. Yassen yearned for a cigarette and his fingers twitched as he imagined wrapping them around the comforting paper, bringing it to his lips, taking a deep breath. He flexed his fingers, flicking away the image and trying to bring his mind back into focus.

The waiting was always the worst. He'd known it would be long – it always was – but there inevitably came a point where his mind would start to wander and pick up on any possible distraction. Perhaps it was merely a mechanism for staying awake … perhaps it was something else; a subconscious desire to self-sabotage.

Yassen smiled at the strange direction his thoughts were taking. He flexed his fingers again, wishing once more for that cigarette, and then settled back into his position, hidden in darkness, waiting …

It was another three hours before Yassen heard the telltale sound of tyres coming up the track toward the house, not far behind the wall that contained the alcove in which he currently hunched. Yassen breathed a sigh of relief – after all these hours, his target was finally here. He heard the car pull up on the driveway – three sets of footsteps crunched along the gravel, greeted by a fourth as a security guard approached the arrivals. Yassen could hear muffled conversation through the wall, and knew that the security guard was verifying the identity of his target via a string of secret questions.

And then the target and his two men – bodyguards, Yassen assumed, smiling at the memory of a hundred bodyguards he had gotten past to do his job – finally entered the house. There were a series of beeps as the deadlock on the front door was opened, and suddenly the men's footsteps and voices became clearer.

"Sir, will you be needing anything?" one of the bodyguards asked. It was well known that Andrew MacMillan, Yassen' target, favoured his privacy and preferred his bodyguards to stay out of sight while in the safety of his own home. Nevertheless, they all, including Yassen, knew that today was different. MacMillan was meeting with a client, and as such preparations to ensure his safety might be required. This was the only point Yassen was hazy about – he was not sure with whom MacMillan was meeting, whether it was a friend or a foe or …

It didn't matter.

Yassen would eavesdrop on their conversation and find out what he could before killing them both and stealing the decryption device which was presumably at this very moment in a suitcase carried by MacMillan himself.

"I won't be needing you until Evans arrives," MacMillan answered his bodyguard and the footsteps split up – two headed up the stairs to the living area while one set headed toward the room in which Yassen was hiding.

The lights came on, and for a moment Yassen held his breath. For thirty-nine hours he'd been quiet as a mouse, sucking on vitamin chews and peeing in a bottle, but now he felt a rush of adrenalin; his target was so close. He observed MacMillan through the small hole he had drilled into the alcove cover. It was so small there was no chance of anyone catching a movement behind it, but you could never be too sure.

Andrew MacMillan was a fairly tall man with greying hair. He was in his late fifties, but kept himself fit and so cut an imposing figure. He went straight to his liquor cabinet, as Yassen had known he would, and poured himself a straight scotch. Early on during the planning of this mission, Yassen had toyed with the idea of slipping a tranquiliser into the bottle, but in the end he had decided against it in case MacMillan reacted badly to the drug and realised something was up before his contact arrived.

Luckily for Yassen, MacMillan enjoyed his drink and newspaper for only twenty minutes when his mobile phone rang. MacMillan answered and listened to the voice at the other end for a few moments – Yassen could not make out what was being said – before nodding to himself.

_"Send him in."_

At last.

Adrenalin surged through Yassen's veins and he let his fingers slide over the handgun that had been lying untouched by his side for so many hours now. It had a steel alloy suppressor on the end, which would serve to minimise, although not completely eliminate, the sound of his gunfire. If all went well, he would be able to move swiftly enough to prevent crossfire, and would be long gone before the security guards could respond to any alarm.

The door opened and two burly men entered the room – obviously MacMillan's bodyguards. They were of no interest to Yassen – just in the wrong job in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In Yassen's experience, personal bodyguards rarely endangered a mission. Almost invariably, they were former servicemen who had seen violence and would rather stay away from it. Once, Yassen remembered, he had encountered a bodyguard who had put up a real fight – he had reacted the very instant Yassen appeared, throwing himself onto the assassin. A real struggle had ensued, with the man fighting not just for his life, but out of duty for his job. Yassen admired that, and had made his death as quick as possible. The two in the room with MacMillan now, however, did not look like they would be any trouble.

Moments later the door opened again. Another man walked in. Yassen squinted through his peek hole, eager to finally see MacMillan's contact. And then his heart seemed to stop beating. His mouth went dry and a wave of dizziness momentarily overtook his senses. _It couldn't be._

But it was. Alex Rider entered the room. His hair was cropped short and he looked much older than his nineteen years. He wore only a t-shirt and grey pocketless slacks that clung to his frame. No shoes, socks, watch … nothing else.

Yassen closed his eyes for a full three seconds, and opened them in hope that his tired brain had started hallucinating. But Alex was entering the room, walking with a familiar grace that was so reminiscent of John Rider that Yassen felt a sharp stab of pain run through him.

MacMillan stood up and extended a hand. "Andrew MacMillan. And you must be Hunter Evans. I hope you will forgive me for having you searched. One cannot be too careful."

Alex took the hand, but cast a pointed glance at his bare feet. "I can understand your concern for security, but I thought we were here as business partners not as enemies?"

MacMillan smiled. "Of course. Let me get you a drink."

"I'd rather see the device."

MacMillan's smile turned sour, but he nodded to one of his bodyguards who immediately picked up a black suitcase and brought it to the coffee table. Yassen tried to see the device, but the angle of his peek hole was wrong, and he could not make out the contents of the suitcase. Alex, however, looked suitably impressed.

"And it works?"

MacMillan's phony smile finally dropped away and he scowled instead. "Of course it works. This is how the Russians have been intercepting secret communications for months."

Alex reached out to touch the suitcase, but MacMillan snapped it shut. The two men looked at each other, and Yassen had to admire the hard line of Alex's jaw. It twitched a little, giving away stress that otherwise did not reach his expression. Yassen knew he needed to act quickly. His mission had been to find out who was the buyer of the decryption device that had been stolen from his employer. And now he knew.

Evidently, this meeting had been set up by MI6 to get their hands on the device that had been used against them for months now. MI6 had thrown Alex to the lions, as usual, relying on his youth to fool MacMillan into trusting their agent.

Yassen seethed for Alex's sake, but he also felt cold sweat at the thought of the upcoming confrontation he could not avoid. MacMillan had to die; that was certain. And Alex Rider would not be leaving with the device; that was also certain. What was not certain was how Yassen was going to achieve these goals without getting either himself or Alex killed.

But there was no point in waiting. He'd waited long enough already.

Picking up his handgun, Yassen kicked down the alcove cover and jumped to his feet, pistol extended and covering the room. He shot the nearest bodyguard immediately, not giving the man a chance to even take in his appearance. The second was dispatched right after, the bullet making a sharp crack that dissipated quickly without resonance.

MacMillan, Alex Rider and Yassen stared at each other. None of the three men looked fearful, but Alex's cold expression had changed into one of surprise and disbelief.

"How did you get in here?" MacMillan demanded.

_Months of preparation,_ Yassen thought, but he said nothing, gesturing simply to the suitcase. "Open."

He did not look at Alex, refusing to catch the younger man's eye, and instead remained focussed on MacMillan.

MacMillan shook his head. "I don't think so. You'll just kill me. You need me alive to open this case."

Yassen sighed. MacMillan's bravura was misplaced. "Open it," he repeated sharply.

"Open it," Alex suddenly agreed.

He sounded calm, but Yassen noticed that Alex was avoiding his gaze as well. It was as though the world might fall apart if their eyes should meet.

"I've seen what this man can do. He will _make you_ open it."

MacMillan straightened his back and glared furiously at Alex. "Are you working together, you double crossing little swine?"

For all in the world, Yassen wanted to say yes; _yes, we are working together._

The thought of it made him tremble; working with Alex as he had worked with John; trusting Alex with his life and Alex trusting him …

"Our paths have crossed. Too many times," Yassen responded instead. In the corner of his eye, he saw Alex flinch a little. "But he is right. I _will _make you open the case. I need to ensure this is the correct device."

"It is," Alex interjected again. "I just saw it. But I'm not letting you leave with it."

Yassen finally turned to look at Alex. "This is not your choice, _Hunter_." He emphasised the name, trying to ignore the pain it caused him to say it.

In that brief moment of distraction, MacMillan suddenly moved, throwing himself behind an armchair and visibly grappling with a holster.

Yassen wasted not a moment. He dived to one side just in time to dodge a bullet, and shot back from the floor, aiming through the armchair. He heard a scream as his target was hit, but did not have the time to verify his victim's injuries, for suddenly Alex Rider was upon him, kicking the pistol from his hand and driving a knee into his groin. Yassen groaned, but brought up his arm in time to prevent a blow to the head. He lashed out with his leg, sending Alex stumbling away. Yassen was on his feet in an instant, and he and Alex faced each other like predators fighting over the same prey.

"This is not your fight, Alex," Yassen hissed, but Alex shook his head. "It _is_ my fight. I am not letting you take the device."

Without another word, Alex threw himself at Yassen again, this time twisting in midair to land a blow on Yassen's chest.

Alex was very fast, but Yassen had years of experience to back his training – he easily avoided the blow and retaliated with a roundhouse of his own, knocking Alex flat on his back, right beside the body of the first bodyguard. As Alex struggled to get to his feet, Yassen stood over him and looked down. His gut twisted and made him want to back away, give up and let Alex win this fight just because it was _Alex_, who didn't stand a chance and never had stood a chance.

Instead he stomped down on Alex's ribs, feeling them almost give way under the force of his attack. Alex wheezed and tried to reach for Yassen's leg to knock him over, but Yassen kicked him again, this time striking Alex's head. For a moment Alex seemed to go slack as his eyes blinked unseeingly at Yassen. Then the focus slowly returned to his gaze.

Yassen did not strike again, but watched as Alex painfully pulled himself to his bare feet and regained his balance.

Alex seemed confused, probably groggy from the blow to his head, and yet his hands were clenched into fists, telling that he was not yet ready to give up.

Yassen was about to step in for a final blow when Alex suddenly hissed, _"Behind you!"_

It _should_ have been the oldest trick in the book. It should have been the last, silly attempt of a child to save his skin. But the urgency in Alex's eyes was real. Yassen turned and dived aside at the same time as the crack of a handgun echoed around the room.

Somewhere behind him, Yassen heard a sharp intake of breath and a scrabbling sound, and hoped that Alex had also the sense to get out of the way. He looked up to see MacMillan approaching unsteadily, an expression of pure hatred on his face. MacMillan fired again, but his aim was poor and the bullet went wide.

Yassen wasted no more time – he threw himself across the room, back to where his own gun lay, and in the same move, twisted around and fired at MacMillan. The shot hit MacMillan in the heart and the man went down like a rock, finally dead.

Breathing heavily, Yassen turned, ready to finish his fight with Alex. But Alex was no longer standing. Instead, he lay on the floor, a flower of blood blossoming across his abdomen.

His breathing hitched a little when Yassen approached. "You going to kill me?" Alex wheezed, equal measures of fear and pain evident in the drawn lines of his face.

"You stupid, stupid boy," was all Yassen could think of saying. His chest felt tight, like something was squeezing him and not letting go. He pressed a hand to Alex's belly, feeling the ragged entry site of the bullet. It was a large wound – a direct hit.

"It hurts," Alex whimpered, suddenly looking as young as the day they had first met. They both knew what was happening. Both of them had, after all, been this close to death before.

"It'll be fine," Yassen promised, keeping an eye on both the door and the suitcase on the coffee table.

Alex coughed. "Guess you're going to take the decryption device back after all that. What a shit day."

A wry smile formed on his face; the smile of a child, not a man, not an agent. Then the smile dropped as Alex coughed again, a gurgle of blood bubbling from his mouth. The boy winced with pain as he said: "They say it takes twenty minutes to die from a shot in the stomach."

Yassen nodded. Twenty minutes, give or take a few. He had seen it many times. It wasn't pleasant. To his horror, Yassen felt moisture in his eyes. He looked down at Alex and remembered their first encounters. How brave Alex had always been, how fearless.

Alex did not deserve such a painful ending.

Yassen held Alex's hand tightly. He could not wait here for twenty minutes. There was no time. And yet, he could not leave Alex to die alone.

"It won't be that long," he promised, blinking away the irritating moisture in his eyes. "You'll be fine. I'm here with you."

_Forgive me,_ Yassen thought as he pulled the trigger with his other hand.

Alex's head jerked up once as the bullet found its place, and then he was entirely still, his eyes still open, looking for all in the world like he was listening to Yassen's words and wanting so desperately to believe them, if only the top of his head wasn't missing.

Yassen screamed out loud as he furiously wiped his eyes. He wished one of the guards would enter the room so that he could vent his pain and frustration on them. But no one gave him that opportunity. He refused to look down at Alex, fearful of what the sight would do to him, fearful of the terrible pain that seared his insides.

Following the plan he had so meticulously worked out, Yassen made a phone call, then waited for the sound of his helicopter and released the latch on the window. The trapeze appeared within moments. Yassen grabbed it, ignoring the shouts of the rapidly approaching security guards. He was gone before they were near, pulled up to the safety of his employer's helicopter.

The man in question looked at Yassen's blood-soaked hands. _Empty hands._ "Where is the decryption device?"

Yassen shrugged, leaning back and closing his fatigued eyes. "It was a setup. MI6 already have the device."

In the background he could hear the sound of a second helicopter making its way towards the area they had just left.

"I got out just in time. I am lucky to have escaped – they would have made me tell them about you." He opened his eyes to look at his employer then.

The man nodded, as though appreciating how close a call it had been. He said nothing else, perhaps seeing the devastation in Yassen's eyes.

Right about now, MI6 would be entering the house, Yassen estimated, as his fingers twitched desperately for a cigarette. It would have taken them approximately ten minutes to reach the scene after his call.

Enough time for him to escape, not enough time for the security guards to clean the … _mess._

MI6 would find the scene of the crime, for it was a crime. They would see that Alex had fought bravely and had died honourably. They would eventually find the suitcase with the decryption device and would declare the mission a success with only minimal loss of life.

There would be a state funeral with flowers and tears, but none of the mourners would be genuine.

None, other than the Russian assassin standing in the shadows.

**THE END  
SPY FEST 2009**


End file.
